Escaping Cyberspace
by theivydaggers
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are faced with the strangest, most difficult case yet. Who would have thought that they would have to deal with a demon? But when they are punished for hurting said demon, they are sent to a place no one would want to get trapped in. A fangirls dream, a characters worst nightmare. Welcome to Tumblr Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. Have fun escaping.
1. The Chase

**Welcome to my first Johnlock fic. And welcome my friends, into the scary world these men have been sent to.**

**You guessed it**

**Tumblr.**

**Hope you'll enjoy. ****–****Theivydaggers**

Sherlock ran ahead of John, his long legs pushing his lean body forward, the adrenalin coursing through his veins like a drug, forcing him along. John was right behind him, his army training paying off as he kept up with Sherlock's breakneck speed. Their breathing was heavy, their legs burned and their hearts thudded in their chests.

The chase was on.

The chase for their most interesting case yet

"John; do not, at ANY cost, let him get away." Sherlock's rumbling voice shouted, breathing deeply at every pause.

"That is IF we bloody catch him. How on earth is this guy STILL running?" John wheezed.

Sherlock grumbled something inaudible and kept running, bursting into the warehouse their man had barged into. He slowed down, pulling off his trench coat and pulling out his gun. His shirt clung to him, dampened slightly with sweat. The same went for his hair; curls stuck to his forehead and pointed out in a million different directions. He motioned with his long fingers at John.

As John came closer to Sherlock leaned forward next to his ear, hair messing into one another's.

"Be quiet. He's listening." John gave Sherlock a curt nod and with that, they split up, keeping to the shadows and taking gentle steps in the wide, dark, dank warehouse.

_He's got to be here somewhere…_Sherlock thought, his eyes darting around the scenery of the room. His normally poised graceful manner was abandoned for a quiet yet skittish one; like that of a rabbit. He leaned into the rows of boxes, his lean body hidden from the naked eye by the shadows. His fingers twitched slightly on the gun, tightening his grip on the handle.

_Where. Is. He. Come on mind, you're better than this. Let's see. He's a well-known trickster, so he is sure to have set up a trick of himself somewhere. No, that would seem too easy. He'd want to scare us, to make us look and feel stupid once we find him. Somewhere so obvious it's not obvious. Somewhere…ah! The boxes, he's in one of them. _

Sherlock gently pulled out his phone, a slight smirk on his face, he texted John.

**He's in one of the boxes. –SH**

A few seconds passed before his phone vibrated.

**How do you know? –JW**

**Are we really still questioning how I know things this far into our partnership? It's pretty obvious really once you think about it. –SH**

**You're a pain you know that Sherlock? - JW**

Sherlock smiled as he could almost hear the sound of fake annoyance John had portrayed from his text. He smirked before typing a quick reply.

**But where would you be without me being a total dick? –SH**

**Meet behind the****...** Sherlock looked up and scanned the box he was behind. Scratches on corner, probably from being shipped badly packaged with others, dark blue peeling paint; it had been here quite a while (estimated 5 years) and…black marks on corner. Greasy, so was shipped with oil. Probably from Alaska given the company branded on the side. He dragged his eyes away from the large shipping box and back to the phone.

**Dark blue box with peeling paint. –SH**

Sherlock listened and could hear the slight shuffle of feet. He rolled his eyes. Could John ever be quiet? Wasn't that the point of being in the army? To be stealthy for god's sake! John slowly came into view and slowed his quickened steps to a steady beat. He moved in front of Sherlock, phone in hand obviously used as a light and a slight mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Could you try to keep a bit quieter next time John? You were about as stealthy as a sloth back there." Sherlock whispered; trying to look annoyed but failing as a small smile grace his features. John huffed and hit him lightly in the shoulder.

"Shut up you git." John looked around and the boxes. About 10 big storage containers. His eyebrows furrowed together in thought.

"So which one do you reckon he's in?" He whispered to Sherlock, trying to deduce like the detective always did. But John was never well known for his deductions.

"Not this one, if he were he would have killed me already. The one at the far end is too tightly bolted to be right either; it would have made a lot more noise unlocking it. Let's see, the three over there are a possibility, but they are too far away to be so easily accessible to hide in so quickly. That leaves five possibilities. I could try and work it out from here, but it would be a much better idea to investigate closer up." And with a turn of his heels, Sherlock was striding towards them, leaving a slightly gob smacked John behind.

John shook his head, clearing his mind before jogging to catch up with the poised detective in front of him, already inspecting every detail of the five containers in front of him. John watched as Sherlock's eyes, the only thing slightly illuminated on his body, by a gap in a high window. They flickered and seemed to buzz around as he tried to take in all the information of five things at once. The eyes had a wild gleam to him that Sherlock always had when he was working on something in his head. And as his eyelids fluttered closed and he let out a low sigh of almost relief, he knew Sherlock had worked it out.

Like he always did.

"That one; see, its door has dust on it, but some of it has come off around the handle area, meaning it's recently opened. All the others are quite similar, but that one shows someone has been there say, less than 20 minutes ago." Sherlock stated, a smug kind of air radiating off him.

"Brilliant Sherlock." John commented, giving his partner a pat on the back before striding over to the packaging boxes door. Sherlock followed, taking the opposite side of the door. John twisted his head to look at Sherlock, nodding and holding up three fingers.

Two fingers.

One.

_**BOOM.**_

They burst in, Sherlock in front with his gun and John behind with his taser. Sherlock stood still, eyes flickering around the dimly lit crate. It was set out like a room, much like one someone would live in. It reminded him of a caravan home.

"Oh bra-vo my good men. Found me eventually." A deep, velvety voice slurred. It sounded like he was all around them both, but also so far away.

"Show yourself." Sherlock shouted into the air, gaining a deep chuckle from the mad man.

"As you wish Mister Holmes."

A flash of blinding light filled the crate. Sherlock put a hand in front of his eyes as wild wind started inside the room. Things went flying and a type of shimmery smoke came from apparently nowhere. John yelped but ducked as random objects moved around in the storm of wind.

"What the fuck?" Sherlock yelled as their man appeared right in front of them. He was devilishly handsome, with dark brown wild curly hair, piercing jade green eyes and a tall, lean figure that rivaled Sherlock's. He smirked at the look of utter astonishment and disbelief on both Sherlock's and Johns faces.

"That was...that's…that's impossible." Sherlock stuttered, for once in his life lost for words.

"Nothing is as it seems Mr Holmes. It can't be impossible can it? Supernatural things haven't been exactly disproved have they?" The man chuckled and snapped his fingers again, flames erupting in his hand that danced and twirled before he clapped and put them out.

"What are you? WHO are you? ANSWER ME!" Sherlock, edgy and confused, pointed his gun at the man. This can't be real. This can't be happening. Things like this don't happen.

"Oh please play nice Sherlock." The man snapped his fingers and was gone before re appearing behind Sherlock. He leaned into Sherlock's ear, startling the man but not moving him.

"What am I? Hm, well that I'm not really sure. I guess to you guys I'd be a demon, but come on, I haven't done anything THAT bad. Think of me like a trickster with powers. Powers beyond belief, powers the world has never seen. The ability to throw science and logic to hell and to make even the smartest men like you Sherlock, question themselves." The man's voice was dark and mysterious and his breath warm in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock shook and tightened his grip on the gun, his hold shaking slightly.

"As for my name?" The man continued, not noticing John moving closer towards him, taser held in front of him as he moved forward in a courageous manner. _Demons. Who would have thought out of everything you could be put to fight against, bloody DEMONS would be one of them. _John thought, his body buzzing with energy.

"My name is Lachlan, but I personally prefer Lachie." He pulled away from the shaking Sherlock and turned around eyes widening in surprise as the tasers needles pierced into him, attempting to shake him. But he hardly moved blinking before shrugging his shoulder at a terrified John.

"That's not very nice John, electrocuting someone you just met." He sighed and pulled out the needles before smiling. John's eyes flickered towards the door, calculating if he could escape. Lachlan rolled his eyes.

"Escaping would be so dull Dr. Watson" with a click of his fingers the door disappeared. He grinned at John who had turned his attention onto the mysterious man.

**BANG.**

The sound of a gunshot pierced the air and Lachlan shuddered and stumbled forward. He frowned and looked at his chest, bloody covering his neat white shirt. He sighed and unbuttoned it before inspecting the bullet wound.

"That wasn't very nice Sherlock that could have hurt someone." He growled before turning around and punching Sherlock hard in the jaw, sending the detective down. Lachlan groaned in discomfort as he moved, the bullet still in his chest. With a sigh he dug his hand into the wound, opening it before ripping out the bullet. He winced as the bullet passed through layers of muscle and skin, but sighed in contentment as the skin quickly began rebuilding itself in layers like a web. The only sign the bullet had actually hurt him now as the skin fully healed was the drying blood on his hand and chest.

"I don't like it." He growled, moving forward to corner Sherlock. "When people." He paused and cracked his neck. "Hurt me Sherlock." He kicked the Sherlock hard in the ribs, earning a sharp gasp of pain from the man. Lachlan turned around and smirked at John who watched the whole ordeal with horror.

"I think you two need to be taught a lesson. It's not very nice to hurt people. Didn't your mummy ever tell you off after hitting someone, you two?" He spun around, looking at Sherlock again with wild, manic eyes before turning his head over to John, his body still facing Sherlock.

"You're a blogger aren't you Dr. Watson?"

John nodded his head, not trusting his voice to not waver as he faced this god forsaken creature. Lachie grinned before turning back to Sherlock, whose eyes were watery with tears of confusion and frustration.

"Fantastic. I think I know the perfect place to send you two."

"Send us to?!" Sherlock yelled.

"Imagine how happy all those fan girls would be…"

"What on EARTH are fan girls? John?!" Sherlock turned desperately towards John who ignored his question.

"I'll see you soon boys." And with a click of his fingers Sherlock and John were wrapped by blinding light, their bodies moving and spinning like they were being pushed into another dimension.

When John awoke, he looked up. He groaned, his head pounding and heart racing from their uncomfortable trip. He stood up shakily, his legs feeling like jelly and looked around. A room, dark blue like the box Sherlock had been standing against earlier. His eyes focused on Sherlock, curled up in the corner of the room.

"Sherlock? You ok?"

"This isn't possible. Where are we John?" He looked so utterly helpless and confused, John was slightly taken aback. John looked around, trying to find something to tell them where they were. His eyes focused on a neon sign against the wall and he gulped. He had heard of this place, but this place was supposed to be on the internet!

"Tumblr. We are in the internet Sherlock."

**TA DAAA! DID YOU GUYS LIKE IT? I HAD SOOO MUCH FUN WRITING THAT. Review, rate, favorite do SOMETHING it really makes me so happy when you guys do. I love you all x -Theivydaggers**


	2. Fangirls Dream, Sherlock's Nightmare

**Hola my lovelies! And we're back. The cool thing with this story is that I can look at the Johnlock tag, and see where I should send the boys! If you want me to send them somewhere in particular, just give me the link to it on PM and I will TRY to put it in the story.**

Sherlock fell silent, for about the first time in his life, he honestly didn't know how to respond to the situation they were in.

"Tumblr…explain it to me." Sherlock murmured, his hands pressed to his lips as if in a silent prayer, like he always did when he explored the deep realms of his mind.

John sighed and paced around the room, his calloused hands running through his short blond hair. Slowly, he turned towards Sherlock and pinched his nose, hoping this wasn't real, that this was some fucked up dream that he wasn't waking up from.

It wasn't.

"John, hurry up with the explanation would you?"

"You…never mind. Tumblr. It's like, an internet blogging site. I'm pretty sure that it's mostly picture based and it is where people who have common interests in something can find each other and just become a huge group."

"I see…is it a popular thing?"

"What?"

"Tumblr. Blogging. Whatever it is."

"I…Yes Sherlock it's very popular."

"Fascinating!" Sherlock suddenly sprung to his feet, before wavering slightly and the weight being put on his legs after spending too much time sitting down. He pushed himself to stand on his toes before dropping back normally on the floor, stretching his legs effectively. Sherlock turned, his brown curls bouncing as he faced John with a manic grin. John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't you see how incredible this will be? We will be the first people inside the World Wide Web! We could find out things that some people would only dream to go!"

"Or you know we could get killed here or never see our friends again. But hey, that's fine, it's an adventure." John said, sarcasm coating his every word. Sherlock huffed in response.

"You're boring."

"I'm _sane._"

"You're normal."

"Not all of seek an adventure that could kill us Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, running his fingers through his messy curls. John took in his appearance, his constantly messy hair, his sharp cheekbones, his bow lips, his tight fitting shirt and black dress pants and (of course) his black trench coat, collar up and buttons undone. John could almost call him alluring, except, of course, John is straight. And so is Sherlock. And straight men don't call each other alluring.

"John? Are you even listening?" Sherlock's voice interrupted John thoughts. He blushed slightly, re thinking what he had just thought, but focused his attention on his friend.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John and huffed in annoyance. "I was saying, maybe would should just open the door. Take a peak. If it's all clear, we go ahead. If not, we still go ahead."

John snorted in amusement at Sherlock's ways. "You always were excellent at these plans."

Sherlock's lip curved upwards slightly, a small smile gracing his features. With twinkling eyes he turned to John. "You were always excellent at following them."

John raised an eyebrow at the compliment he had received by Sherlock Holmes himself. A smirk took over his features as he noticed the slight blush on the highs on those should be illegal cheekbones.

"Flattery from Sherlock? The day gets stranger and stranger." John spoke softly in a playful voice.

"Shut up."

* * *

"Just open the door John." Sherlock growled, his voice at least two octaves lower than usual. John would ignore the slight tingling feeling he felt because he was much too focused on his annoyance.

"I'm sorry that I'm thinking about something before I do unlike you Sherlock!"

"What are you talking about, I think about everything I do!"

"EXCEPT YOU IGNORE THE POSSIBILITY OF DEATH!" John snapped.

"Do not."

"Look at me, my name is Sherlock Holmes; I can tell your life story in five seconds but I won't take into account that sometimes things that are dangerous can hurt me." John mimicked in a deep voice, rolling his eyes and making over the top movements with each words. Sherlock growled and before John could even stop him, he pulled the door open himself.

Bad move on his part.

When they looked outside, they both gasped. A huge tornado looking thing was what greeted their eyes. The light crackled, electricity seeming to fill the seemingly never ending hole. It was a swirling mass of dark blue and violet hues, mixing together in a violent storm. Colours crashed into one another, lightning sparked and the whole thing buzzed with life and energy. There was a small ledge leading them out to it. The wind was fierce and ripped at their bodies. Sherlock shielded his eyes, and reached a hand behind him for John. Though Sherlock didn't see it, John smiled a little and took his hand.

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted over the howling wind, threatening to blow him off the small ledge. "PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING."

"HOLD MY HAND JOHN."

"WHY?"

"WE'RE GOING DOWN."

"WAIT, WHA-?"

But before John could protest, before he could fight back, Sherlock's hand tightened around his own and leaped forward, falling into the electrical storm and dragging John with him. John screamed, the world seeming to whir past him in blinding flashes, static images and bright colours. He held on tight to Sherlock's hand, squeezing it to the point of pain but Sherlock was too engrossed in taking in everything to care.

The way the wind howled the feeling of weightlessness as they fell deeper, the electric currents buzzing through him like a drug; sparking at his insides, setting fire to everything it reached. It was like a hot energy really, spreading itself slowly through his body. Sherlock started to smile, then grin, then laugh. His laughs shook his body, but the wind carried his laugh away like it was a leaf. John's screams of terror could not be heard and to him, the wind was just a dull throb. He could hear his laugh; could _feel _it. Sherlock had never felt so alive.

"THIS IS FANTASTIC!" He shouted, joy filling his every word.

"YOU BASTARD SHERLOCK HOLMES! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS I SWEAR TO GOD."

And then suddenly, the fall was over. With a heavy _THUD _John and Sherlock slammed into the ground, groaning in pain and dizziness. John scurried away on all fours and promptly threw up before wiping his mouth and standing up. Sherlock rolled over on the floor, rubbing his arm that would definitely be bruised when this was over.

John offered him a hand and pulled his lean body up. Sherlock dusted himself off before murmuring his thanks. John sighed slightly and followed his friend, who was currently looking around them. Only then did John notice something. Pictures. Pictures everywhere. Somewhere empty scenery that looked like it needs people in it, others were well known places to John except no one was in them. Some moved and others stayed still. But they were all empty.

"Creepy."

"Not really John."

"What do you mean?"

"You told me earlier that this 'Tumblr.' Is a photo blogging website yes? And we are _in_ this website now. Thus there are two possible reasons these photo like doorways are in front of us. The first option is that we will replay things we have already done before. This is a fan base John, you can tell by the, frankly disturbing, usernames in the corners like 'whore-for-sherlock' and 'Ineedadoctorlikewatson'. So these people have seen us and have put us in photos or short clips, like this one." He touched the image and it rippled like water. He smirked a little before continuing. "The other option is that we are simply sent into where ever we have been created. In drawings, fake videos, edited photos, animations etc. etc. The logical choice would be to simply step inside."

John's jaw was loosely hanging and he was quick to close it. He should be used to Sherlock's brilliance by now. He clapped Sherlock on the back and grinned.

"Brilliant Sherlock."

"Thank you John." Sherlock turned to John, praying to god that he wouldn't notice his rush of blood to his face and neck. If John did notice anything, he said nothing. He turned and looked at the slowly rotating images, mulling over what Sherlock had said.

"So. Which one do you wanna hop into?"

"I…I don't really care to be honest. You choose John."

John looked at the images, trying to decide his safest bet. Then, ah! Baker Street. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist and prepared himself. Grinning over his shoulder at Sherlock, he stepped forward to the very edge of the picture, pulling Sherlock next to the image as well. John's heart thudded in excitement, his eyes sparking with curiosity of this unknown cyber world. With a shaking breath he looked over at Sherlock who had happened to be staring at him the whole time. Blushing at being caught, Sherlock looked in front of him once again.

"On the count of three John. One…two...THREE!" and Sherlock ran forward with John's hand tight around his wrist, pulling him through the image as well.

It was odd going through; it was luke warm and felt like walking through heavy mist. But the duo just kept walking forward until the soundless steps of their feet were the familiar crunch of gravel under their shoes. Sherlock turned around to see the screen still there, leading them back to where they came from. _Fascinating_ he thought.

But the more Sherlock looked around, the more something felt off. Yes, why was their warmth by his side? Actually, the more Sherlock blinked and focused the less like Baker Street the place seemed until. Yes. This isn't Baker Street. This was his room. The warmth of another human pressed into his side, nuzzling their face into the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock wanted to freeze up, wanted to tell the person to stop. But honestly couldn't find himself able to.

Sherlock did however turn his head, his curls sticking up because of the pillows. What he saw almost made him cry out in shock.

"J-John?"

"Sherlock?" John replied, his lips pressed into Sherlock's neck pressing gentle kisses on the detective's skin.

"John what are you doing?"

"It appears I'm kissing your fucking neck. But, just my luck, I can't seem to stop." John growled in annoyance and bit at the skin, causing a wave of endorphins to flood over Sherlock's body. Sherlock focused his breathing, not wanting to give away to John whatever this effect he had on him was.

"I can't seem to be able to move John. I want to get up and go away, but my body is doing the complete opposite of what I want." Sherlock sighed in frustration at his own body as his arm tightened its grip around the doctor's waist. "There has to be a way to stop this."

"If you know, in that big, annoying brain of yours, please tell me. I really don't want this to escalate." John muttered viciously, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Sherlock's collar bone. Sherlock bit his lower lip, focusing on the sensations in his body. The raise of heart rate by 4 beats, the sweat on palms and behind neck, the fluttery feeling in his gut and the heat coursing through his veins.

"Fascinating."

"Wha is" John mumbled, his face a bright red at the fact he had no say in anything his body did. He lips sucked on a part of Sherlock's neck and bit, before using his tongue to cool any painful sensations.

Sherlock sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, speaking quickly "The rush of dopamine, adrenaline and serotonin that one receives through the physical interaction between two people. Biologically fascinating."

"What?"

"Nothing."

John sighed and grumpily continued to plant kisses in to Sherlock's neck. With no control over his body, he was horrified to find his hand slowly rubbing over Sherlock's chest in a gentle, sensual way.

"Sherlock stop this quick."

Sherlock nodded and tried not to focus on the cocktail of hormones stirring in his brain. His eyes scanned his room, all was the same. The same book of notes, the same books in his case, the same scattered papers and broken mannequins. Everything was the same. But it couldn't be! Sherlock growled in annoyance at himself. It was hard to concentrate with John's hands there and his lips right there. Sherlock looked at the roof.

_Cracked paint in left corner, caused by throwing a petri dish in annoyance._

_Cobwebs of daddy long legs spider in top left corner, bugs from last feeding still there. A daddy long leg has died. Pity._

_Bullet hole precisely 15cm away from left edge. Bored._

_And…what was that?_

Squinting, Sherlock stared at the peeling paper on his roof. That wasn't usually there. As soon as he noticed it, the note fell from the roof and into his free hand.

_Navy blue ink, quill tip pen was used. Not scratchy enough for proper feather quill. Neat, yet bold writing. Male, right handed. Paper is thick. Parchment? Most likely, if not a very good fake. Words are have been written with great care, no hurry for this not to be found._

Sherlock's eyes graced over the page, reading the words at last.

**Do you really want to stop so early in the game Sherlock? Aren't you enjoying it? There are a few things you can do here. Either stay calm and snuggly like you two are or make out and be able to go again. Really, it's a simple choice when you think about it. **

**You do want to go home don't you Mr Holmes?**

**-Lachlan x**

Sherlock groaned at the note. Really? This was cruelty these days? What an idiot.

"John I know how to get us out. Lachie left us a note on the ceiling being the considerate fellow he is. We have a choice. Stay comfortable and not leave…"

"This may be comfortable for you mate but I am horrified."

"Or snog and be free again."

"You're kidding right?"

"Why would I kid about something so stupid? Come on John, my humors sharper than that."

"So you want to do it?"

"What other choice do we have?"

John sighed. "Not much I suppose."

"So John?"

"What?"

"Kiss me you idiot."

**Ta da! It's an update! Lalalalala! Thank you for reading etc. etc. Muchos love -Theivydaggers**


	3. Teen Lock

**Hey there! How is everyone? I decided from now on I'm going to promote my favourite johnlock of the week! Huzzah. To kick it off, I really suggest you all check out 'Westwood University.' Teen lock, M and has such an incredible plot it's just absolutely fantastic. Also, I feel the need to inform you that I plan on this story turning M in later chapters so keep that in mind. **

**I love you all**

**-Theivydaggers**

"…Kiss you."

"Are you deaf or are you just stupid?"

John sighed and closed his eyes tighter, his face still incredibly close to Sherlock's neck. If Sherlock focused, he could feel the accelerated heartbeat that was coming from John. Of course he didn't though; he was still trying to slow his own down.

"Sherlock, it's not every day that you're forced to snog your best friend. Give me a minute."

"Technically I already gave you three."

John sighed in annoyance.

"Shut up Sherlock."

"You've kissed numerous dull and dim witted one night stands before John, probably gone further. What's the problem with kissing someone who won't care? Or are you just used to gaining sex from your kissing?" Sherlock muttered, earning a growl from John. Before Sherlock could slur another low level insult, John turned his face sharply and pressed his lips roughly against Sherlock's. A gasp tumbled out of Sherlock, and John grabbed the opportunity and forced his tongue in, swiping the roof of Sherlock's mouth and taking in his taste. His tongue swirled and swiped, plundering into Sherlock's mouth with a force that Sherlock was not used to.

Sherlock shuddered and started to kiss back cautiously, not really sure about what he was doing. He decided to simply follow John's lead and ran his tongue along Johns. He raised his eyebrows at the taste; a mix of tea and jam. It was an enjoyable feeling, and he focused on it coursing through him. His body responded to the kiss, a prickling sensation started underneath his skin. He was overwhelmed by the sudden intoxicating heat of the room and of course, the smell, taste and feel of John Watson.

John was trying to focus on one thing; to shut up the arrogant Sherlock Holmes. But as the kiss progressed John felt a rising pool of arousal stir in him. The way Sherlock's soft, pink bow lips moved against his was…well incredible. Without really thinking, John's hand moved into Sherlock's hair and clutched his curls, his hands curling into and fisting his locks. And though Sherlock would never admit it, John heard and felt a soft moan escape the detective's lips.

Slowly, John pulled away. He was breathless and his cheeks were flushed and his lips were red and damp.

"John…"

"Uhm…yeah Sherlock?"

"…Can you move?"

John stared at Sherlock. A moment passed and he smirked. Then grinned. Then giggled. Before collapsing into a full body laughing fit, falling off the bed and clutching his sides as he laughed harder. Sherlock gave him a look of utter confusion, before breaking into a wide grin, one that seemed too big for his face.

"You…you force your best MALE friend to kiss you Sherlock, and the first thing you ask isn't 'Was that weird?' or 'Are you ok?' you go straight to bloody 'Can you move?'. I just…" He started giggling again as he stood up, shaking his head. "Yes Sherlock I can move."

Sherlock grinned and laughed with John.

This would be an interesting day to say the least.

* * *

They had been walking around for ages, and their legs ached and feet throbbed with pain. John groaned. His shoulders were slumped as he walked behind Sherlock's heavy footfalls, the noise drowned out by the detective's loud grumbling.

"Sherlock, _please_ can we just sit down? We can have some tea and work out a way to get out of here." John pleaded; his voice rough from lack of use. Sherlock growled in response, running a hand through his locks; dishevelling them further.

"I can't remember where the gate was. It feels like I'm doing the same thing over and over again, like a disc on repeat! Like a bloody video showing the exact same ruddy clip again and again and again. Agh!" Sherlock caterwauled, kicking a nearby bin and startling other civilians. He turned to the and glared at them with a look that could liquidize the internal organs of even the hardest criminals. "Why are people looking at us John?"

"Probably you're trench coat." John said dryly, sarcasm coating his every word.

"What?"

"It's distracting for some people." Sherlock spun around and raised an arched eyebrow at John, a small smirk gracing his face.

"What John, one kiss and now you want me stripping off my clothes? Moving a bit fast if I do say so myself." John's cheeks flooded with colour, making Sherlock's smirk deepen.

"Shut up."

Sherlock only laughed and turned around.

"Dick." John grumbled, looking down and sighing before following Sherlock.

"I love how pleasant you are today John."

"Oh sod off."

"No need to be a grumpy old shit."

"Sherlock!...Wait Sherlock! Look, over there!" John exclaimed, pointing in the distance and running over, his cheek colour normalising as he left his embarrassment behind with Sherlock. He grinned wickedly as he heard the thudding steps of Sherlock jogging behind him.

"A gate! Thank god." Sherlock grinned, slowing down to halt besides John. The gate was there; rippling like a pond on a windy day, a strange energy passing from it into himself and, most probably, John. In his mind he stored away what the gate looked like, any sounds made by it and the length, width and diameter of it. All of these facts were stored into his brain for future reference.

"Together?"

"On three John."

"One…"

John's hands balled into fists. Sherlock automatically reached towards him before pulling back his hand.

"Two…"

Sherlock re adjusted his scarf. John took a deep breath.

"Three!"

They stepped forward as they did before, but, queerly enough the sensation was different. The last time they walked through these portals, both John and Sherlock had had the feeling of walking through a sheen of water but this time, it felt much more like they stepped into the heart of a tornado.

John swore, the wind hurling and spinning him like when those people apparate in Harry Potter. It felt like things were being ripped off him, his skin, and his clothes his _everything_. He shut his eyes, not even wanting to fathom how Sherlock was fairing. It felt, god how could he explain it? It felt like he was losing himself, but at the same time gaining something. He didn't know what exactly, but it felt odd. And wrong.

Suddenly, the whirling stopped. John was flung from the gate, landing roughly on the ground and rolling to the side; groaning. Sherlock managed to land on his feet, but felt dizzy and nauseous as he made clumsy steps towards a fence, leaning against it to catch his breath and waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Then Sherlock's eyes looked and himself.

_Scar from 17__th__ birthday still fresh, barely healed. Possibly been there a week at most._

_Hands and fingers not as calloused as they are usually._

_Slight wrinkles and scars non-existent._

Sherlock's eyes widened. 'No', he thought, 'This can't be right.'

Sherlock spun around, catching a view of his reflection in a nearby houses window. He stopped, breathing hitched, hands sweaty and eyes wide.

"Oh fuck."

_Wilder hair, more warm brown then almost black._

_Slight stubble growing around jaw and chin, probably didn't have enough time to shave._

_Shirt is clean and expensive, but worn in a rebellious manner. Shirt probably forced on by Mycroft and as some type of stand, worn in a casual and boyish manner by myself._

"Oh my god." John's voice sounded behind him, and Sherlock turned slowly, not sure what to expect. He did a double take when he saw John, his jaw slack from shock. This was not the John he knew. Army John. Roughened John. John in ugly jumpers and stinking of tea leaves. The John in front of him did not meet that description at all.

John's hair was a dark blonde and was messy with a swooping fringe and longish sides. His body was pale, but still slightly tanned. His face held no frown lines or dark circles, instead showing the face of an innocent teenage boy, with bright sapphire blue eyes and laugh lines. He was short and muscular, built like that of a rugby player. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and his body was dressed in a loose tee-shirt and black leather jacket that looked well-worn and snug. He smelt vaguely of tea, but more strongly of musk and rich earthy aromas.

"John…" Sherlock's face twisted into a grimace at his voice, two octaves higher than he was used too.

"We're bloody teenagers Sherlock." John's eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of Sherlock. He wore a crisp, white button up shirt but had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and left it untucked. The top two buttons were undone showed a brief glimpse of the expanse of soft, creamy white skin. His pants were black and in perfect condition, not a stain to be found or tear to be seen, which made his choice of shoes even odder compared to the rest of his ensemble. He wore worn in black converse, with scuff marks and frays. The whole outfit looked a bit devious; a little like if bad boy style met posh. It seemed fitting on Sherlock.

"John...wait John is that…is that an EARRING?" Sherlock exclaimed, before chuckling at his blogger. "John Watson had a bloody earring in high school!"

"Shut up." John growled, his hand reaching towards his lobe and giving the silver hoop a light tug. "At least I don't look like a pompous twat like you." He stuck out his tongue and smirked as Sherlock glared.

"You look ridiculous."

"You just look like a dick."

"How mature John."

"What? I'm a teenager." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the slight smile on his mouth let John know he didn't annoy him. John looked around before groaning at a small note tapped to a bus stop's bench.

"Sherlock we've got a letter from Lachie." John said, his face contorting into a scowl. Sherlock bounded over to the bench, his slender hand picking up the paper and once again deducing it, adding to his information about Lachlan.

_Parchment again and this time red ink. Most likely meant to resemble blood, but obviously fake due to the fact that real blood dries dark brown instead of deep red. Writing is more skittish then last time, possibly angry? In a hurry? Ink splodge in corner by finger, hastily wiped away with his sleeve; look at the small pieces of wool in the mix. Still written with quill tip. Slight tear in middle from rough handling, you can tell from the smudged writing there that someone tried to rip this off him. _

Sherlock shook his head, and made his eyes pay attention to the actual words printed.

**My dear Sherlock (and John), how swell it was to watch you awkwardly lock lips. Yes, that's right my lovelies. I see a lot of things that you two do. You may notice, unless you were too unbelievably stupid to (which I doubt you both were), that you are your teenage selves. Both of you are 17 and don't worry, still in the same year you were as adults. Jumping back in time is tedious. Now what are we doing as teens I wonder? Oh my dear Sherlock, teenlock is such a fun thing to play with! How do you feel about reliving hell?**

**Keep playing the game Mr Holmes. It's only just started.**

**-Lachlan x**

"Sherlock are you ok? You look a bit shaken." John said behind him, walking over slowly giving Sherlock just enough time to put on a stony and cold façade.

"Fine John. Now, how do you feel about going back to high school?"

Sherlock swore he heard John gulp.

**The end…for now. Did you find my gif reference? Good job. How do you like Lachie so far? Who do YOU think tried to stop the letter being sent? Let me know your thoughts and new ideas where to send the men after Teen!lock.**

**Favourite, follow and review if you enjoyed it enough, they really help me out.**

**I love you all.-Theivydaggers**


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